


the place he couldn't live without

by spaceghost



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:12:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spaceghost/pseuds/spaceghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble about Komaeda and Hinata's relationship. (the good, the bad, and the ugly)</p><p>WARNING: mental illness and trauma stuff; nothing too explicit, but it's still there. there are also mentions of dubious intimacy and self-harm. again, all of it is brief and non-graphic, but please be aware before you read it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the place he couldn't live without

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO! This is very very much a vent fic. And if you have read my other Komahina thing, you would know that I have written a great deal about the unhealthy side of Komahina. So here it is! I hope something good comes out of this for you.

His hair was like porcupine spines. Sticking out in all directions, it shot angrily up at the sky. Or it flattened itself defensively. Or drooped sadly. Or sprung up happily. It just depended on the day, time, and place. This was something Komaeda noticed about Hinata. This was something Komaeda watched about Hinata.

He was intrigued by the boy.

Intrigued by the dark fire he felt hummed through Hinata's being at all times. Even before he had met the boy, he had known about it, sensed it shooting out in waves from the other’s body. There was always some sort of rumbling, some sort of small spark ready to jump and burst into flame. Something awake and loud. It was something distinct, something Komaeda liked to pretend he could cup his hands sometimes. He wanted to touch it, feel it, be near it. He wanted this of course, until he had come too close to the other to pull away.  
\--  
He had felt it the first time the other pinned him to a wall, and hissed into his ear to "Leave me the hell alone," breath ragged, chest thumping, and eyes widening. He felt it the second time as he was yanked forward crashing headlong into the other, lips smashing together under the guise of desperation and hormones. He had let that slip. He had felt it the third time as he lay flat on his back, hair sprawled out around his head like a halo, as he gazed up into Hinata's dark and piercing eyes. He had let that slip too.

But he couldn’t let that slip when a screaming voice in the back of his brain woke him at night, when he would wake startled, head jerking forward, gasping for breath as his bedsheets swam menacingly around his thighs. His body would shake, would quake, would quiver, and tears would climb down his face like ice falling in the night.

Because, no matter what he thought, said, or felt, he couldn’t ignore the cold fingertips dancing at his thighs and itching under his shirt as he walked down the boardwalk. He couldn’t ignore the fingertips sneaking their way into his boxers as he stared down at his cold sandwich. And he couldn’t ignore the sight of his cracked thighs as he undressed before bedtime. Because no matter how hard he tried, all he saw was the image of himself on his back and gasping, cheeks red and sirens screeching in his ears.

The image of this was like a dark hand around his throat that curled and uncurled at the most inconvenient of times.  
But, but, sometimes, the hand dissolved. Evaporated into thin air. This happened especially when Komaeda noticed how the sharpness of Hinata’s eyes guarded a fleshy and vulnerable side that bled when poked. He knew because he’d done this too often, shown too often the cuts that decorated his ankles and belly, shown too often the way he delighted in the sight of his own blood. The memories of Hinata’s immense eruptions of “What the hell is wrong with you, you sick fuck?” was something that brought immense glee to Komaeda and something he would hate to lose.  
\--  
Something else he would hate to lose was the other boy’s hands, face, eyes, and the way his arms felt snaked around his neck. This place, a shrunken haven carved into the space of Komaeda’s bed amidst the stained bandages that littered his room was a good place and special place. It was a place that transcended all space, one far away from the marks on his wrist, the taunts of the other students, and the stains on this inside of his brain.

However, sometimes, when Komaeda was lying in between that space, he would find himself overtaken by visions of his parents' faces, stretching, and breaking and snapping or his own body, breaking into thousands of pieces of glass and then he would remember where he was once again and close his eyes, and dream about that space, take him far away into another world, a world perfect, soft, and special. It was here, the one special place where something warm existed, and Komaeda didn’t think he could live one day without it.


End file.
